


Dear Carmilla.

by Ribsandstuff



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:17:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2955329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribsandstuff/pseuds/Ribsandstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to say the words that were hovering between us for months on end. Because I should’ve known what was happening when you didn’t want to go to the party and rather, wanted to spend an evening with me and a bottle full of bubbles and memories waiting to be made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dear Carm.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing i've ever posted on Archive, little bit terrifying.

Dear Carm, 

I’ve been thinking about you, and how it was.

I sometimes like to think about how you used to like late night walks, and it’d be on one of those nights that sleep would evade me as well, as if I was the host of something contagious, something that shouldn’t be approached lightly. 

And maybe that made me feel strong, almost invincible, because I would revel in the fact that sleep was evading me and sit up in bed with reams and reams of paper scattered around me trying to make sense of everything that was happening. 

Then I’d let my pen run across everything it desired, jotting down my scatter brain thoughts in an attempt to make something wonderful happen. 

And I suppose something wonderful was already happening, because I was strong in those moments. I was strong and unafraid, I didn’t doubt for a moment that pen was permanent and irreversible, because I had no doubt that what I was creating was revolutionary and needed to be permanent. 

When you’d get back from your walks at half 3 in the morning and come into our room, you just knew that I’d be up and ready to have someone in my energy. 

You’d see me with my hair up and a pen dangling precariously from my lips. Glasses somewhere between my brow and the end of my nose and hands all frantic, trying in vain to grab the ideas that were so eager to find their place in the world, deciding that my mind was finally too much of a suffocating place to be. 

You'd see me and want to be there, and that was enough. 

Not just want to be there, but want to be no where else on earth, and that was more than enough. 

I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to say the words that were hovering between us for months on end. Because I should’ve known what was happening when you didn’t want to go to the party and rather, wanted to spend an evening with me and a bottle full of bubbles and memories waiting to be made.

I guess i’m still not saying the words, I’ve put it off now for so long that it’s gained some sort of weird taboo status, I feel like if I say it then death eaters will swarm me from all directions, except this isn’t The Deathly Hallows and you’re not Voldemort and you wouldn’t even get the reference so I don’t know why I said that. Plus I never want your name to be something I can’t say, the way it falls from my lips I feel like I was made to say it, Carmilla, Carmilla, Carmilla, Carmilla. Like some sort of chant or prayer, maybe if I say it enough you’ll walk right through that door smelling like earth and the night and barely apologising for going missing for 8 days without letting me know that you’re okay. But really i’m rambling now and making up false endings and i’m sure there’s a coined term for what i’m doing that I stumbled across in one of your Philosophy books, putting off the inevitable because all i’m trying to say is

i love you,  
and I loved you  
and I know you loved me.

There. 

I said it. 

No Death Eaters and no dark mark in the sky. I wonder why I made such a fuss when it was obvious anyway. I wish one of the viewers of my stupid videos would’ve commented on the way that I looked at you, because it’s only looking back on the footage now that I realise how long it’s been that you’ve meant this much to me. 

And it’s only looking back on the footage now that I realise that I could’ve asked you for anything and you would’ve done everything in your power to have given it to me. It’s so raw what i’m feeling Carm, because I should’ve never called you a coward. You never gave up on me, you did everything you could not to give up on me. And I couldn’t see it from my selfish little pedestal that your mother was doing everything she could to put you in between a rock and a hardplace to force you to make an impossible decision. And you made one, you made the decision not to give up on me, and I made the decision to give up on you.

I had a nightmare the other day Carm. I was stuck inside myself, and I couldn’t get out. The world passed me by, and I could only watch it from inside of me. My heart wanted to burst out of my ribcage, and my brain out of my skull. I was stuck inside myself, banging against my ribcage, hitting it with all I had; I could see light through the intercostal muscles and I wanted to get to it, but I just didn’t have the strength to break through. I was in my skull Carm, sitting with my back against the bone, wondering why I was stuck in such a strong cage, wondering why no one would help me get out.

It made me think of how brave you were not to have gone absolutely crazy after those 20 years in a coffin. How wonderful you were to still have the humanity to still care about those around you. I can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that someone with centuries worth of living still cared about cracks on their windscreen. You cared so much that you gave yourself up for us and I called you a coward before you left.

It’s odd to think that this is the way I have to speak to you now. 

It used to be that you’d whisper to me so quietly and reluctantly i’d have to do my best to feel the words form on your lips, and try to convince the tips of my ears to read them to me. 

It’s not possible for me to forget the way we’d communicate through eye rolls and ankle clicks and complete sighs of defeat when peppered with questions born from absolute stupidity in the brief moments of calm during the storm, when LaF would question whether an experiment containing the use of a flamethrower would have to be outside. And Perry would question whether Silas truly was a breeding ground for supernatural activity. 

I spent a few hours today humming Taylor Swift to myself whilst looking through your Philosophy books whilst Twilight blaring in the background. I was hoping for you to begrudgingly ask me what Taylor Swift song I was singing for you to look up. Or to tear your precious first edition away from my cookie stained fingers. Or tell me to turn that crappy commercial Vampire fairytale off. Or all of the above. But you didn’t do any of them, and I guess 8 days isn’t long enough to process a lifetime without you.

It’s odd to think that this is the way I have to speak to you now. 

Laura.


	2. Dear LaFontaine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never stop leaving your pipettes around the place LaF, I know I pretend that i’m annoyed, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a pretty awesome response to my previous attempt at this, so I thought i'd try again.

Dearest LaFontaine,

So Laura’s been writing to Carmilla to try and get her feelings across better and I thought it prudent to try the same technique, you see I’ve been having these difficulties in telling you how wonderful it’s been to have you back.

Infact I’ve had difficulties in accepting how incredible it’s been to have you back.

Now don’t think me unkind for saying that dear, I don’t mean my affection for you is surprising in anyway. It’s just I thought I’d only miss you as a bestfriend.

Oh dear.

It looks like i’m no better articulating my feelings on paper than I am in person.

What i’m trying to say is that you are my best friend and you always will be, but I do think my ability to suppress any strange emotions and try to explain them away has done something terrible.

I think in the process of explaining away Carmilla’s obvious vampirism and Silus’ obvious knack for attracting the supernatural, I also explained away the strange feeling in my stomach when you’d hold my hand on occasion.

You see, well Susan was my bestfriend, and we spent our entire childhood growing into the people we are today and that’s something simple, that’s something I can’t confuse, that’s something I know.

But LaF, LaF isn’t just my bestfriend, LaF is so much more than that.

They’re my partner, my accomplice, my shoulder to cry on and my companion in need and I think i’ve been kidding myself thinking there was anything normal about us.

The thing is, is that I don’t want us replicate any 90’s classic movie with a boombox and a cheesy speech.

That’s why you’re being treated to my stream of consciousness rather than an articulate conversation.

I just, I just want you to know, that I know.

I know we’re something special and this doesn’t have to change anything.

Bestfriends doesn’t fit us, but that isn’t because we fit under the label of anything is, it’s just because there isn’t really a coined term out there that I feel adequately describes what we mean to each other and that’s fine for now.

Oh LaFontaine, am I making sense right now? Do I even sound like me? I fear i’m not getting any of my points across properly.

You disappearance really rattled me, it made me realise the importance of being honest while it’s possible, rather than striving for a contrived normality.

And I guess i’m also trying to say how sorry I am, i’m so sorry for calling you Susan for so long.

It’s not your job to make allowances for my inability to understand that who you truly are and I promise that I will make all the effort in the future to make sure that you’re always comfortable, no matter what environment we’re in.

When you were missing i went to your room, looking for you Silus hoody. I needed something to ground me, something of yours to remind me that we were still looking. And I found this taped to the inside of your wardrobe.

“Strip me of my skin  
Skilfully  
And climb into it  
Push your arms into mine  
And put your legs  
Where mine should be  
Walk around in my skin  
Take it all in  
The looks  
The words  
And the stories  
And then you’ll understand  
How i put  
Myself out there, in so many ways.  
Words are just markings and sounds  
You can utter them at will  
Feelings cannot be forced.  
So strip me of my skin  
Wear it with your head held high  
For you are me, not you.  
And i am not ashamed of myself.”

 

I found it taped to the inside of your wardrobe and realised how selfish I’ve been all these years overlooking the most important parts of you, whilst you do everything to be the more honest version of yourself that there could be.

I’m so grateful that you’re back LaFontaine.

I’m so grateful that you’re back and you’re with us again. I’m grateful that i’m currently sitting at your desk with a plate of freshly baked brownies, whilst you nap. I’m grateful that you didn’t singe all of your eyebrows off in that terrible excuse of an experience and i’m grateful that you’re well enough to be starting terrible excuses for experiments again.

You’re starting to stir now, I suppose it’s the smell of the brownies. I don’t think I want to be here when you’re reading all of these, so i’ll leave this letter next to the brownies and I suppose the next time I see you we’ll talk.

Never stop leaving your pipettes around the place LaF, I know I pretend that i’m annoyed, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Perry.

 

Ps. We need to find a way to thank Carmilla for everything.  I don't suppose she'd want a party after an 8 day hiatus, but maybe we could get her some of that blood that she's partial to from the bloodbank? Let me know what you think.

Pps. Don't eat all the brownies at once.


	3. Roll on 2015.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And i’m rambling again.
> 
> I’m rambling because that’s what happens when you’re not awake to shut me up with a kiss.
> 
> A kiss or three million.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
>  
> 
> ...cuties.

What the fuck.

It’s 57 minutes past midnight on the 1st of January and I’ve got you curled up in my arms and you’re purring a little and nuzzling into me, and I really do think i’m rubbing off on you and I know that you’re the cat in this relationship, but i’m the affectionate one normally.

I mean you’re metaphorically the cat in that you’re always sleeping, reluctant to show affection but still manage to mysteriously be around me 99.8% of the time. 

But there are also those occasions when I get home from a lecture and there’s literally a giant cat curled up on my yellow pillow.

Anyway, back to my previous point.

What.

The.

Fuck.

How on earth did I get so lucky? 

How has it been weeks since I thought I’d have to live an eternity without you? How has it been weeks since it felt like I did have to live an eternity without you? 

Your snarky as hell, unhygienic, terrible roommate tendencies were gone, there was no hair in the drain and I only went through one pack of cookies in 8 days. 

And now you’re back and there’s hair all over the bathroom and my cookies don’t even make it into the kitchen before they’re gone and there are blood stains all over my favorite mugs, because you’re fucking messy at meal times.

And i’m finding it difficult to adjust to the fact that you’re here, in my arms right now, breathing unnecessary air into your undead lungs, curled up with one arm around my stomach and the other quite strongly holding onto your yellow pillow.

My yellow pillow.

Your yellow pillow.

Who the hell knows, Its mine, but the amount you have it in your bed it may as well be yours.

Our yellow pillow?

I suppose it could belong to us? Which brings me onto the subject of us. Since you’ve been back we always share the same bed, waking up in a tangle of limbs and whispered good mornings and hushed requests for 5 more minutes.

We spend every hour of the day together with stolen kisses, and not so stolen kisses, with held hands and group dates with the ginger twins and beauty and the brawn, as you so affectionately mumble every time our room is taken over by Perr, LaF, Kirsch and Danny. 

In fact you’ve even taken to being nicer to Danny, no longer gagging anytime she comes near you and reaching out with a nice word or two. 

Though others might not agree that, “Danny long legs isn’t looking as much like Mike Teavee after the factory today, good job” are nice words, the lack of malice behind the words the first time you extended a “carm compliment” had Danny looking like you’d just got down on one knee and asked her to the Yule Ball.

Though I guess you’re treading a fine line, because there’s always the fact that she’s the one who carried you back to me after the Zeta Bro’s found you. 

And i’m rambling again.

I’m rambling because that’s what happens when you’re not awake to shut me up with a kiss.

A kiss or three million.

But the thing is, how am I supposed to be able to go to sleep when you’re laying on me, very much alive, or very much undead and we’re bringing in this New Year together and I got to kiss you as 2014 turned to 2015 and we finally drank champagne together and looked at the stars and ate s'mores with all our friends. 

I mean, how am I possibly meant to be able to sleep when you’re not gone and you’re with me? 

Because the way that your eyelashes flutter with every breath that you exhale makes me wonder how you were ever dead. 

The way you curl into me and inhale as a reflex makes me wonder how I could ever look away.

The way that your arm tightens around me at the same time you pull our yellow pillow closer to you makes me wonder how i could ever look at anything else.

And the way that my heart is thundering in my chest right now at the sight of you sleeping, has me wondering how it’s not waking you up. 

I guess it’s beating for the both of us or something.

You know I was thinking about the Half Blood Prince the other day and how when Hermione was smelling Amortenia for the first time, the third thing she smelt was Ron’s hair. And though i’m a firm believer that Hermione and Ginny should’ve ended up together, it got me thinking what mine would smell like.

Of course I could never admit this to you when you’re awake, but it’d definitely include. the fireplace on Christmas day and my parents room which still smells like a mixture of my mum and dad. 

And your god awful, drain clogging, beautifully perfect hair. Hair which I always wake up to a face full, but smells like my lavender shampoo and a cold crisp night which is so uniquely you. 

So the fireworks are still going full force outside, and i’ve left the window open because the alchemy club have somehow managed to make them scented this year.

And plus every time one goes off in the distance, you nuzzle into me a little more and I’m falling so quickly for you that i’m surprised i haven’t melted into a puddle on the floor right now.

So this is the way that i’m going to bring in the New Year and I hope to god that we’re doing some variation of this when 2016 rolls around, because I love you.

I love you so much Carm.


	4. In LaFontaine's Skin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I wish that every time I reached over my head to take a jumper off, I didn’t have the fleeting thought that I could reach one more layer and tear off my skin as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are enjoying reading this as much as i'm enjoying writing it.

You’ve bought brownies into my room but i’m still too sleepy to register anything else really.

I can feel you moving around my room, sitting at my desk and scribbling away. 

I can feel the tension rolling of your shoulders in waves and i wonder what words you’re writing.

What words could be causing your foot to tap the floor like theres a bunch of hummingbirds mating in your cute little pumps. 

I wish I was brave enough to get up and walk over to you, rub your shoulders and kiss your cheek. It’s been difficult recently, having to stop myself from being overwhelming around you. 

Since I got “un-pod-peopled” you’ve changed around me, like i’m more fragile, like i’m gonna break if you touch me.

You think I don’t notice when you go to touch my hand and then pull away, but contrary to popular belief, i’m incredibly observant. 

It’s just that I sometimes find words hard to put together, but that’s more so because i’m so acutely aware of the fact that i’m still figuring everything out right now. 

Not necessarily because I don’t know what to say, but more because I have so much to say, you know?

I guess since I got “un-pod-peopled” I’ve changed too, there’s something inherently differently in the way I want to approach life and I’m a little scared by it. 

I’m scared by the fact I i’m acutely aware of the fact that I know who i want to be.

I’m scared because when I was figuring it out, I couldn’t be mad at other people for finding it difficult to understand.

I’m scared because now i’m certain, it doesn’t make sense for me to make allowances for people who care about me conditionally. And there are some people I can’t bare the thought of losing.

I sometimes have to take very deep breaths to assure myself that i’m going to be okay.

But as the oxygen in my lungs turns into CO2, I find myself wishing that I could change too. Change into something easier to be with. 

And I wish that every time I reached over my head to take a jumper off, I didn’t have the fleeting thought that I could reach one more layer and tear off my skin as well. 

Maybe not tear my skin off, just carefully strip out of it and put on a different birthday suit for a day, leaving that one in a closet for a while, for a different occasion. 

The thing is, is that I don’t care what most people think about the fact I don’t want to be Susan anymore, but you showed me my first christmas, and patched my knee up after my first tree climbing experience and I know for sure that Perry loves Susan, so what if she doesn’t love LaFontaine the same way.

It’s stupid and unfounded because I know that things that mean a lot to me, become important to you.

I know this because instead of washing my pipettes up when I leave them laying around the place, you neatly pile them in one place, and I know you do this because you hate mess but you’d never compromise one of my experiences by accidentally washing the evidence away.

I know this because you try to listen to all the music I love so much, and even though I can hear you listening to your own ipod afterwards at a furious volume trying to wash away memory of previous songs, my heart definitely swells at the fact you try.

The thing is, is that I know all of this but I still look in the mirror every day finding it in me to try love and myself and when i’m finding it difficult to love myself, when i’m finding it difficult to even know who I am right now, how am I supposed to expect you to love me?

I know this.

I also know that you also saw the poem on the inside of my wardrobe. 

You wear my Silus hoody sometimes. I think it help you remember that i’m okay and “un-pod-peopled” now. You must’ve taken it when you thought that I was missing. But this means that you definitely saw the poem on the inside of my wardrobe.

“Strip me of my skin   
Skilfully   
And climb into it   
Push your arms into mine   
And put your legs   
Where mine should be   
Walk around in my skin   
Take it all in   
The looks   
The words   
And the stories   
And then you’ll understand   
How i put   
Myself out there, in so many ways.   
Words are just markings and sounds   
You can utter them at will   
Feelings cannot be forced.   
So strip me of my skin   
Wear it with your head held high   
For you are me, not you.   
And i am not ashamed of myself.”

 

And I am not ashamed of myself. 

And I am not ashamed of myself.

And I am not ashamed of myself.

And I promise, I’m not ashamed of myself at all. It’s just that i’ve learned along the way that love is entirely conditional, even when it’s not supposed to be. Because whatever obligation you think someone has to love you, listen to you, or even not hate you, they will always have a higher obligation to use as an excuse to cut you out.

My cousins couldn’t say LaFontaine instead of Susan because my aunt didn’t like it.

My aunt didn’t like to refer to me using they or them, because my mother wouldn’t have it.

And my mother stopped calling me sweetheart and angel, because apparently her god wouldn’t like the waistcoats and bowties I’m so partial to.

So I guess my reluctance to be open with people who I know love me, stems from the fact that no one has to love anyone, and this is increasingly apparent. 

Fuck I must’ve been musing for a while there, because I can hear you shuffling out of my room.

I guess I can think about important things in a little while.

Because right now.

I smell brownies.


	5. Words unread.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You stupid, useless vampire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are enjoying this and not finding it too disjointed! Leave me a comment and let me know whether you're enjoying how it's going, it'd make my life :')

You stupid, useless vampire.

 

Christ i’m in love with you, but you leave your mess everywhere and I can’t work in a messy room and I have my finals coming up and just because you’re a centuries old badass that doesn’t need to revise, it doesn’t mean we’re all as lucky. 

You stupid, useless vampire.

And now i’m the one that forced to go through the reams of paper laying around the bottom of your bed figuring out whether MY notes are in there because you’re incapable of leaving my things alone.

Plato, Plato, Nietzsche, Aristotle, Marx, Marx, Kant, Laura?

Laura?

What?

“Dear Laura,

I’m writing this and leaving it by your bedside table in hopes that you might understand.

These words pour out of me, stumble from my mouth staining this paper black, and it’s all I can do not too loose myself, as I stare into the ink erring on the edge of lost. I wish I could just dig my fingers into my ears, and claw out the ideas that I’ve been force fed. It hurts Laura. It hurts to have something push its way into your arms like the sleeves of a limp t-shirt. Push its way into your limbs like the legs of faded worn jeans.

L’espirit de l’escalier. Staircase wit is what they call it. When ideas flood your mind a moment too late, so something that could’ve been a quick witty response is just an idea that’ll never be. That could be my name that could be my definition that could be my description. Something that had the potential to be great, but is just an idea that’ll never be.

They pity me Laura. My mother and Will. They think I don’t hear them talking. Or maybe they’re confident that I can. Don’t they know that their voices are the only things I hear? They echo within my skull, bouncing of the bone until the sounds of their concerns resound within me. I hear them talking, whispering. They look at the way I string words together, they look at the way words fall from me, like food from that forgotten girls mouth. They look at the way I paint pictures with words, and play the alphabet, like the keys of my favourite piano. They look at how I put myself down in ink, and think my, she could’ve been something. They say it as if I don’t know.

I look at the image the mirror shows me, and think surely that can’t be me. For I don’t ever remember looking this way, skins stretches over my bone, plain white. A canvas for the story of my life. Scars mar it, and I try not to get lost in the labyrinth I’m drawing.

I was selfish Laura, so selfish for allowing you to rely on me for so long; I was selfish for thinking that maybe we could help each other, help ourselves. I was selfish and deluded in thinking that I was anything more than what I’d become.

But i'm ready to change that one. I'm ready to become someone worthy of being relied on.

Yours through eternity,

Carm.”

Jesus.

Jesus and all things holy.

I’m pissed at you for all of 5 minutes and I find your pre “under the sea cavern diving sword retrieval mission” suicide note. 

I’m pissed at you for all of 5 minutes and you manage to make me feel bad.

You’re not even awake and I don’t get the liberty to silently bitch about your bad habits, because your century old bad ass skills make it impossible for me to stay made.

You risked your life for us.

Fine, I guess I can clean up for you a few times. But you didn’t technically die, so i’m not letting you off forever. 

You stirring from your midday nap now and I’ve got tears in my eyes and if you catch my staring at you on the border of crying you’ll probably wanna talk. 

So i’m gonna grab some cocoa, grab some cookies and get down to business.

Because after i finish making these notes, you’re gonna get snuggled the hell out of.


	6. Words will never hurt me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Carms attempt at letter writing after realising it was helping Laura.
> 
> Honestly based on a text I sent my friend at half 1 in the morning. The text was slightly less eloquent, and included an anecdote about a drunk night out, but carried much the same sentiment.

I guess i’m going to try writing stuff down, because it’s working for you, so I guess it could work for me? Let’s start on a happy note then...

I dislike myself a lot sometimes.

An incredible amount.

I look in the mirror and I see myself. (yes, I actually see myself, another stupid myth, thanks Stoker.) Anyway, I look at myself and I don’t like what I see. 

I mean physically, I know I look good, but that’s beside the point. 

What I mean, is that it’s been 300 hundred years since i’ve been able to look in the mirror and find something that i’m genuinely happy to see. And it’s become the norm, this isn’t some sort of cry for reassurance, or attempt at a pity party, infact people who feel the same way might even understand that sometimes there’s a sense of pride, when you manage to do something half way decent, in a body that you didn’t think was worthy of much. 

It makes every small achievement almost sweeter, and every failure a little expected.

Fuck you’re right. I do sound like a centuries old, broody vampire. But I guess that’s that.

Anyway, I dislike myself, and contrary to every love story out there that writes the bible on self love coming before loving another, and another’s love causing a miraculous recovery in yourself, I don’t believe that.

I don’t look in the mirror and love myself. I look in the mirror and see the same thing that i’ve always seen and that hasn’t changed.

What has changed though is the fact that it’s okay. It’s okay because I don’t have to always be looking at the little things that make me feel okay in my skin. This isn’t because i’m now a lovesick (undead) teenager. It’s because you love me.

You love me and sometimes thats all I need.

And in the same way when you’re tearing at the seams and your skin doesn’t feel quite right and you miss you dad and are angry at the world and don’t quite understand, it’s okay, you don’t have to love yourself, because I will stand by you and love you. I won’t force you to look inside and see how good you are, i’ll just stand by you and say “it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay” because I love you and I can hold you together when you can’t.

I realised this two weeks ago and it changed my life.

I realised when I saw LaF beaten and broken on the floor of our room, sobs wracking a body that tried so hard everyday to spread good in the world. A body that’s only mission was to try and learn and discover and enlighten, but ended up being the brunt of so much hate from people not even willing to try and learn, discover and enlighten.

LaF was lying on the floor, beaten by words, and whoever said “but words will never hurt me” obviously didn’t know that, him, her, she, he, ma’am and sir can bruise as hard as sticks and stones. But Perry didn’t try to tell LaF to try love the body that seemed to be causing such hatred to erupt from ignorance. No Perry just laid out flat that she loved LaF and you loved LaF and even I goddamn loved LaF. So LaF didn’t have to do anything but ride out the waves of pain, and confusion and anger wracking through that warground they were trapped in, whilst we whispered a mantra of “it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay” because we’ll love you, when you can’t. And we’ll love, when you don’t want to.

Looks like the stars are out in full force tonight, because broody, philosophical me is on a roll.

And I mean yeah of course I could talk about the fact that isn’t it incredible that the stars that i’m looking at now, are the same stars that I could’ve been looking at 250 years ago (because who the fuck cares about all the other important people 250 years ago that could possibly have been stargazing when I, Carmilla, exists, right cutie?) - like I was saying, yeah of course I could talk about that. 

But seeing LaF beaten down by words, and being slowly sewn back together by our words made me realise, that it’s the present that means something.

Not just the present, but an individual's presence. Because it’s counts that I was in the room when we made sure LaF knew that they mattered. I might be one body, in a rotating infinity of disposable lives, but I was one of three bodies when it mattered to someone and that counts. Comparisons to populations and spaces that you can’t even begin to comprehend in your mind don’t mean any. What does mean something is the fact that to you I matter. To Perry I matter. To LaF I matter. And that’s where it all starts to matter.

So no, I’m not going to start looking in the mirror and changing what I see overnight, but for all that it’s worth every small victory in a body that doesn’t think much of itself it bigger that it seems.

And for that i’m thankful that you can love me when I cannot love me.

And for that, I’ll make sure that I love you, when you cannot love yourself.


End file.
